


Another Cliche

by taylor_tut



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: M/M, Sick Character, Sick Danny, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 00:40:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12829599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: For a request on tumblr: Yo, you don't have to, but can you write a DP request where Danny is fretting around taking care of Sam and Tuck bc they're sick while keeping ghosts at bay and he doesn't think to take any precautions bc he's a ghost and doesn't think he can catch human viruses any more. So after the two are better, Danny exhausted and refuses to admit that he himself is sick until he almost passes out/throws up or something. Cue the two taking care of him now. Thanks!❤





	Another Cliche

“I can’t believe that you’re doing all of this for us even though you’ve still got school and ghosts to deal with,” Sam sniffled. She and Tucker had both come down with the flu, and so Danny had volunteered to care for them. It’s not that their parents couldn’t do it, but Sam’s parents were a bit… well, bright and cheery, and that was a lot for her to deal with right now, and Tuck’s parents overreacted to every little sniffle and would end up bringing him to the hospital as soon as his fever spiked over 101, or if they “didn’t like the sound of that cough,” which was something he would rather die than do.

So Danny, whose parents were out of town, was currently running something of a sanatorium out of his living room. 

“It’s no big deal,” Danny reassured, smiling tiredly. 

“Are you sure? You’ve got to be exhausted.”

“Stop worrying, Sam,” he chuckled, “I’m fine.”

“You just have to be careful to not catch our germs,” Tucker added.

“Nah,” Danny sighed. God, he really  _was_  tired. He’d have to do a little better at hiding it if he wanted them to allow him to continue caring for them without making him take a break. “That’s why I’m in ghost form. I can’t catch a human infection in ghost form.”

“Well, thank God for that. You’re a lifesaver,” Sam smiled.

* * *

Famous last words. 

Apparently he could, in fact, catch human infections in ghost form.

He could catch them so hard. 

He learned that by doing. He was shivering like crazy, which was throwing off his ghost sense, his head pounded, and his muscles ached with every movement.

But it was the last task of the day before he could take a nap. He could pull through just getting Sam and Tuck their homework.

“Mr. Lancer,” he croaked at the door at the end of the last period. God, when did his voice get so bad? “I’m here to pick up Sam and Tucker’s make-up work since they won’t be here for the next two days.”

Lancer looked him up and down, frowning, but wordlessly handed him three copies of each assignment. 

“Oh, I only needed two,” Danny corrected, and Lancer looked more horrified than he had ever seem him look.

“Don’t tell me you actually plan on coming to school the rest of the week,” he started.

“I can’t miss more class,” he admitted, “I’ve had too many warnings already.”

Lancer quirked an eyebrow. “Your warnings were issued for unexcused absences, Mr. Fenton, not for real illness.”

Danny blinked. “I’m fine,” he said, reaching out for the papers, missing twice dizzily before managing to grab them.

“Hey, Lancer,” a voice greeted from behind Danny, “Fen-toad. You’ve got detention, too?”

Danny blinked. “Oh, uh, no.” He gestured to the pile of papers without a word, hoping that was enough of an explanation. He was starting to get really dizzy.

Dizzy enough to sway into Dash, who caught him by the shoulders. 

“Jeez,” Dash muttered, “Mr. Lancer, I think he’s really sick.” 

“Mr. Fenton, how are you planning on getting home?” Mr. Lancer asked. Danny gestured to his feet. “You’re walking?”

“Yeah,” Danny replied. 

“Like hell you are,” Dash interjected, earning a stern glare from their teacher for his language. “If you can just wait until I’m finished with my detention, I’ll drive you home.”

“You know where he lives?” Lancer asked, and Dash laughed. 

“Everyone knows that Fenton lives in the Freak Tower.”

“Well then, Mr. Baxter, your detention will be a little different in form today. Instead of journal entries, you’ll see to it that Mr. Fenton gets home safely.”

“That’s not necessary,” Danny objected, “I can… call someone.”

“Oh yeah?” Dash taunted, “Who? Your parents are gone.”

“How did you–”

“If the city goes three days without your weird parents ambushing some public place trying to fight ghosts, it’s pretty safe to say the Fentons aren’t home.” Danny could have laughed at that, if his brain had processed it fast enough. “I’ll get him home,” Dash promised, but Danny still hesitated. “Come on; I’m not gonna wail on ya.”

Much to Danny’s surprise, Dash actually insisted on walking Danny all the way inside his house. Sam and Tucker shot up immediately.

“Danny,” Sam greeted, “you were gone a while; we were–”

“Why is Dash here?” Tuck asked. “And… why is his hand on your back?”

“Fen-toenail is sick,” Dash explained. 

Both friends looked at each other worriedly and then back to Danny, but he brushed them off.

“I’m fine; Lancer just overreacted–”

“He’s burning fuckin’ up and can hardly walk in a straight line,” Dash revealed. Danny looked at the floor while Sam and Tucker fussed, wrapping him in a blanket and setting him on the couch.

“Thanks for giving him a ride,” Sam said. 

“Yeah, well,” Dash muttered, “if he died walking home with some stupid fever, I’d have to find somebody new to wail on.”

“Thanks again,” Sam smiled. Dash rolled his eyes, but stopped in the doorway. 

“I’ll, uh, bring his homework by. You know, if he needs it. He’s on the brink of failing anyway, and if that happens,–”

“Right, you’ll need to find someone new to wail on,” Sam smirked. “You know, you don’t always need an excuse. If you were a little less of a dick to him, you’re kind of his type.”

Dash flushed red and left quickly without another word.

“What were you talking to Dash about?” Danny croaked.

“Oh, nothing,” Sam smiled. “Tuck,” she whispered, “I’ll bet you five bucks Dash comes back tomorrow with soup.”

“Seriously? He’d never do that; you’re on!”

It was the easiest five dollars Sam ever made.


End file.
